Junjou Zingaro!
by fleexix
Summary: A little visitor from Italy barges into the lives of the three couples and touches them in unique ways.


**A/N: This story will be, hopefully, told in four parts, this being the first. Enjoy! **

The summer of Rohmann Venizelos's twelfth year was not spent running through the grassy foothills of northern Italy with his best mate Dominic, fighting off dragons (i.e., the gypsies), saving damsels (i.e., the cute neighbor girl), and riding his proud steed (i.e., a scruffy Shetland pony named Bucephalas) as he had done all summers before. This particular summer had been marked by a horrible thing the grown-ups seemed to call a 'divorce', which basically translated into a good deal of screaming on Rohmann's parents' parts and a good deal of traveling on his part. His mother retained their humble cottage in Domasco, but his father soon took up residence in Milan, which meant hours of driving through the foothills in his mom's truck, or his dad's new BMW. When the summer came to a close and the tug-o-war over Rohmann was still very heated, his grandmother stepped in and suggested that Rohmann come to live with her until the divorce had been settled.

Rohmann, who had never left Italy before, let alone on a plane, found himself tucked in the back corner of the first class cabin, numbly sipping at a box of orange juice. This woman, his grandmother, was a stranger to him. He vaguely remembered seeing her picture once, but it had been a very old picture, obscure and in black and white. He wondered what she looked like. Although, if she looked anything like her son, she had chocolate curls, wide-set green eyes, and a ruddy smile. These thoughts comforted Rohmann and he clung onto them childishly. He'd been ripped from his entire life; Domasco, Dominic, his school, Bucephalas, the gypsies, the foothills, the sunshine, the food, and his parents were all back in Italy. He wanted to cry, rant, and rave about how unfair it was that _they_ were the ones misbehaving, yet he was the one being punished. But he was twelve, far too old to cry. At least, that's what his mother said to him when he fretted about his hardships.

A lady dressed in a crisp blue uniform and matching necktie materialized beside him suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts. She smiled a warm smile, exposing two rows of pearly whites. "Honey," she began in a sweet tone, "we're going to be landing soon. I just wanted you to know, since you seemed so upset during takeoff."

"I wasn't upset," he lied, using his golden curls to avoid making eye contact.

"Oh? Well I'm sorry, then. My mistake." She promptly got up and moved to the front of the cabin to chat with some of the other stewardesses. Rohmann watched her go, miffed that he'd brushed off the only person who'd attempted talking with him. He stared at the beige blind covering the window moodily, clicking his teeth together.

Just then, the captain came on over the intercom and announced that they were descending and would be arriving at the Tokyo Narita International Airport in a matter of ten minutes.

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The moment Rohmann stepped off the jumbo jet, he was blasted by alien sights, smells, and sounds which practically sent him reeling backwards with his over-stuffed duffel carry-on. There was no one at the end of the cue waiting with a sign that said his name, like it said in the letter. Just ashen-looking people with dark, glossy hair, briskly clacking from terminal to terminal in their business suits, talking on their cell phones.

A shove from behind forced Rohmann to move away from the cue, leaving him stranded in a sea of long legs and scowling faces. This new world reminded Rohmann of the hospital; cold and sterile. He drifted further away from the busy people, towards what looked like a police man. He tugged the man's sleeve uncertainly, his free arm sagging with the weight of his duffel bag. The uniformed man glared down at him and barked gibberish in Rohmann's face, pointing at several women passing by, and then waving his arms about exasperatedly. Deciding the man would not be very helpful, Rohmann darted away from his livid outbursts and into the throng of people between gates. He wanted to reach the payphone on the other side of the bustling people, but the flow of traffic drifted him away from his target, and he soon lost sight of it.

Rohmann found himself propelled forward down the stairs towards a giant turntable with suitcases piled on top. The conveyer belt began somewhere through a hole in the far wall and ended several turntables away, where the baggage disappeared again. Rohmann was momentarily fascinated, but when the adults forced him forward, his attention was turned back to avoiding the bottom of their shoes. After a while of this, he grew tired and found his hope and curiosity diminishing. He managed to finagle his way towards a wall where he slumped down in a heap. A tear rolled down his cheek out of the blue and he stabbed at it with his sleeve, feeling rather childish for getting frustrated over something so tiny. After all, he was perfectly safe at an airport. Plenty of people would be willing to help him if he really needed it, right? And, even if it was a foreign country, someone was bound to speak Italian, right? Because his parents would never have let him go somewhere scary without some sort of help, right? And even if they had sent him somewhere scary without help, it wasn't because they didn't care. It was because he was an adult now, right? RIGHT?!

Tears spotted his worn wool coat now, as he tilted his head down in shame. More drops rain down his nose and plopped, fat and sloppy, onto his jacket. His shoulders trembled slightly, threatening to explode into full-blown tremors and his lower lip quivered under restraint. He was lonely. He was mad. He was _mad_ that he was lonely and mad! He wanted to sink his fist into something—preferably a grown-up—for having been forgotten at an airport in an alien land!

His fury, over the period of an hour, simmered down into gentle sobs and hiccups until Rohmann was lulled to sleep against his duffel bag. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for what felt like an eternity upon waking up. He rubbed his crusted eyes and stretched out his sore back, glancing about the baggage claim warily. The scene had changed dramatically; the flood of people had dissipated, leaving only a few loners huddling around the turntable. The now-empty space was eerily quiet.

Shuffling to his feet, Rohmann picked up his duffel bag with both arms and hugged it to his chest. The memorable scent of sun-soaked vineyards and hearty Italian cooking—home—gave him some energy to travel. He made his way towards the nearest turntable, wondering what had become of his belongings. In his suitcase had been a week's worth of clothes, some old photos of his family, and a dragon scale from a dragon he and Dominic had vanquished. (In reality, it was a scarf they'd stolen from an ornery old gypsy woman). He felt a pang in his stomach (which was quite empty by now) oddly enough, but realized that he had no hope of recovering his suitcase after the turntable had made four full revolutions without success.

As his hopes began to droop again, he heard a boisterous commotion behind him. He turned towards the distraction, forgetting all about his predicament. The source of the noise was a slight blond-haired man, who looked tame in a crisp white shirt and a knitted sweater vest, but the glint in his piercing gray eyes said otherwise. A security guard was blocking him from moving forward, trying to gain an upper hand in the shouting match. But the blond was having none of that. He shouted some things that had the guard wincing back, looking around for help. The slender man punctuated his statement by looking pointedly at Rohmann before crossing his arms triumphantly. The two approached Rohmann, the blond settling and arm comfortably around the boy's shoulders.

"I came to pick up my son from the airport. Of course I don't have a boarding pass! Just let it go. The child got lost, naturally, since he doesn't speak Japanese. He is just joining me and his mother now, poor boy, so I'm going to have to enroll him in some private lessons right away. Isn't that right… Alex?" The man looked to Rohmann, his eyes frantically sending him signals that were impossible to interpret. So Rohmann decided to remain vague and just nodded his head, hoping the question had called for a yes or a no.

The security guard seemed satisfied enough. "Make sure to call the airport ahead of time in the future," he grumbled, giving the blond the eye. "You won't be so lucky next time. Little Alex here will just have to stay overnight if you're not more careful."

"Oh, yes sir. I'm sorry to have bothered you." The blond humbly nodded his head at the guard, who snorted in response and stalked away. As soon as the man was out of earshot, the blond wheeled about on Rohmann a bright smile on his face. "I was dropping someone else off here at the airport and I noticed you sleeping here. Did your mom or pop forget to come get you?"

Rohmann stared at him with wide blue eyes, trying to figure out what he should do. The man could have just meowed at him and it wouldn't have made any less sense.

"Huh, I guess you really don't speak Japanese after all," the blond mumbled to himself, his joy momentarily checked. He looked away in thought, tapping his pointer finger on the hollow of his cheek. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers together, his smile returning. "You can't stay here, so come home with me until we sort this all out. An airport is no place for a kid."

Rohmann's blank look reminded him of the language barrier. Frantically, the man pointed at Rohmann, then at himself, then to the exit. Rohmann, seeing nothing strange about the man, and having no other option, nodded reluctantly. The blond struck out his hand behind him for Rohmann to take, but grasped only air when he tightened his hold. He turned to find out why the child was hesitating and was met with a pointing finger at his face.

"Me?" asked the blond.

Rohmann nodded, biting his lower lip in anticipation. When no response came, he pointed to himself and said, "Rohmann."

After a moment, recognition flickered across the stranger's face and he instantly pointed to himself and announced brightly, "Shinobu." He pointed back at Rohmann and chirped, "Rohmann."

Rohmann did not feel so childish now for crying. This stranger (Shinobu, rather) had acted so jubilantly after meeting him, and he was a grown-up… mostly. This brought a brightness to Rohmann's blue eyes that had been absent the entire summer. Gladly taking the stranger's (Shinobu's!) hand, Rohmann was happy to be towed away by this young man who did not seem to be afraid to be touched by emotion.

**A/N: I couldn't recall which city JR takes place, so I'm just setting the story in Tokyo. Deal. Please review if you have the time. All writers appreciate critique ******** Also, do not despair that there is no lovey-dovey couple mush in this chapter. Each chapter revolves around a different set of characters. This one happened to be Rohmann on his own. I'll add in a little something for you yaoi fiends, rating pending.**


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